


The Word is Made Flesh

by Red_Chapel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:19:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Chapel/pseuds/Red_Chapel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: John; swimming at the lake and somebody notices his scar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Word is Made Flesh

John heard the small gasp and saw the woman listing to the side, hand flailing to find something on which to steady herself. He stepped closer, put an arm around her, caught her just as her knees would have given out, and eased her back into the chair she had just risen from.  
  
‘Ma’am? Ma’am, I’m a doctor. Can you please tell me what’s wrong?’ He moved around to squat in front of her, attempting to look at her eyes, but they were closed. Taking in the sudden pallor of her cheek, he moved a hand to her wrist. Pulse slightly elevated but not so rapid as to indicate heat stroke, and she was still sweating—a good sign. ‘Are you feeling nauseous? Does your head hurt?’ he asked as she put a hand to her temple.  
  
‘No, no, it’s alright. I’m OK’, she assured him in a wavering voice, eyelids fluttering. She drew a shaky breath and tilted her face down and away from him.  
  
‘Are you sure? It’s an awfully hot day out here.’ He kept one hand on her wrist and reached the other to her chin. It looked like her color was already coming back some, but he wanted to tip her head so he could better see her face and eyes and what they might tell him of her condition. ‘No shame in feeling a little woozy.’  
  
She resisted the tug on her chin, pulling back, then tucking her head firmly against her shoulder. ‘I’m fine, really. No trouble.’ She drew a deeper, steadier breath and turned slightly toward him. ‘I— Oh.’ Her hand went to her stomach and she blanched again, eyes tightly shut.  
  
‘Are you feeling nauseous?’ he asked again.  
  
‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m alright, really.’ She swallowed roughly and took several deep breaths through her nose.  
  
John spied a mesh bag a few feet away and pulled it toward him. ‘Is this yours?’ he asked; he thought he’d seen it over her shoulder before she’d started to faint. There was a half-full water bottle inside that he dug for. ‘I’d like you to drink some water. Can you give that a try?’  
  
‘Yes, please.’ She put out her hand blindly, eyes still averted, and he placed it securely in her grasp.  
  
‘Just a few sips. Go slow.’  
  
She did as he said, keeping the bottle close, still blocking his view of her face. As he realized it, understood it in those words, he suddenly wondered if she had some mark or scarring on the hidden side of her face that she was trying to shield from view.  
  
‘It’s OK’, he said gently. ‘I’m a doctor. You don’t need to hide from me.’  
  
‘Doctor, I’m really sorry. I’m OK. Please don’t fuss over me. I’m just— I’m sorry.’  
  
‘Nothing to be sorry for’, John assured her. “Like I said, it’s a hot day. That sun can be a killer. I’d like to get you into the shade somewhere’, he added, standing to look around for a nearby umbrella.  
  
‘No, it’s not that. I’m not— I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot. I’m really just a wuss.’  
  
‘I’m sorry?’ He could see more of her face now—no scarring that he could make out, no birthmark. He moved a bit to her side to keep her in his shadow.  
  
‘I’ve just never been— Really, I don’t mean to offend you, I swear. I’m just— lousy with— scars.’ She looked quickly to his face, hand up, he now understood, not to block her own face but to block his scar. Then she was looking down again, pleading to the sand beneath her feet, ‘Please don’t be offended. I’m really sorry. It’s not your fault.’  
  
As soon as he’d understood, he’d angled himself away from her. Now he took a few quick steps back to the low beach chair he’d occupied before getting up to go to the concession stand. He grabbed his towel and threw it over his shoulders. It didn’t quite cover the exit wound, but he could face her now.  
  
‘I’m so sorry’, he said as he returned to her. ‘I didn’t realize. It’s covered now.’ He pulled up the chair on the opposite side of her and sat down. ‘Some doctor I am, diagnosing heat exhaustion where there is none.’  
  
She slowly  turned toward him, finally looking him straight on. ‘I’m really sorry. I don’t know why, I’ve just always been like this.’  
  
‘It’s OK’, he said, smiling. ‘And I can assure you, there’s no offence taken. I should probably keep my shirt on.’  
  
‘Oh, no— It’s the beach. You should take your shirt off like everyone else. Hell, a lot of the men around here look a lot worse with their shirts off than you do. Oh, God. Did I just say that?’ She dropped her head into her hands. ‘I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, honestly. I— I should just shut up now.’  
  
John chuckled. ‘It’s OK. I’ll just take that as a compliment. I think.’  
  
She looked up and saw the amusement in his eyes and gave a small chuckle herself. Extending her hand, she said, ‘Rebecca.’  
  
‘John’, he replied, shaking the offered hand.  
  
‘Pleased to meet you, Dr. John. And thank you for the excellent care.’  
  
‘Excellent and entirely unwarranted care’, he countered.  
  
‘Well, I think the catching me part was rather warranted.’ She was quiet a moment, then looked hesitant. ‘Can I ask...?’  
  
‘Gunshot wound. And a few surgeries to get everything back in place and working order afterward.’ At her shocked look, he added, ‘You were right; it’s not my fault. Bloody Taliban’s fault.’  
  
‘Oh, God—you’re a soldier!’  
  
‘I was’, he said quietly.  
  
‘I’m sorry. I really am an idiot today. Half fainting away and then making you ashamed of your battle scars.’  
  
‘I’m not ashamed of it.’ He smiled. ‘I’m not Superman; I can’t outrun a speeding bullet. But I should keep it covered around this many people’, he added, nodding at the crowd of beachgoers they seemed to have forgotten. ‘No telling who’s going to react, well, the way you did. Obviously, it’s been awhile since I’ve been to the beach.’  
  
‘I come quite a lot. I live just the next town over.’ She paused to look at him appraisingly, then shifted her body into a blatantly flirtatious posture. ‘Tell me, Dr. John—would it compromise our doctor-patient relationship if I happened to mention that I know a fantastic Japanese restaurant within walking distance of my house?’  
  
At the question, John’s brain left doctor mode, where it had lingered despite her non-condition, and snapped over to male-of-the-species mode, cataloguing the shapely legs he had knelt beside, the rounded breasts that he had ignored while at eye level, the toned arms now propping her chin above the table, the lovely smile that crowned it all...  
  
He grinned. ‘Not a bit.’

**Author's Note:**

> Behind the Story: My father had two open heart surgeries before I was ever thought of. While at a neighbor’s one day, he casually took off his shirt when he grew hot. The neighbor nearly passed out when she saw the bold scars crossing his chest. (The horizontal scar was particularly noticeable and gruesome when he moved due to the way they had cut through the muscle.) From that day, he was always careful to wear a shirt when others were around, no matter the heat. He had no shame, just a good deal of courtesy.


End file.
